


Recovery

by winterisakiller (sparkinside)



Series: Last Minutes &  Lost Evenings [6]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 13:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16874118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkinside/pseuds/winterisakiller
Summary: The awkwardness between them was a knife to the heart. And it was his fault. All of it. He wanted to tell her so. Tell her he was sorry. That he had been stupid and selfish and that he missed her. He opened his mouth, not quite sure what he was going to say but knowing he needed to saysomething.





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> So here we have part six of this series and much like _Love Forty Down_ what happened was very much not what was initially planned. My characters seem to have mind of their own and all I can do is follow along for the ride. 
> 
> Enjoy

_‘I’ve been waking in the morning just like every other day,_  
_And just like every boring blues song, I get swallowed by the pain_  
_And so I fumble for your figure in the darkness, just to make it go away._  
_But you’re not lying there any longer, and I know that that’s my fault_  
_So I’ve been pounding on the floor and I’ve been crawling up the walls_  
_And I’ve been dipping in my darkness for serotonin boosters, cider, and some kind of smelling salts’_

Recovery – Frank Turner

 

“Tom, are you even listening to me?” The exasperation in Luke Windsor’s tone was unmistakable. Tom cursed himself. He’d been trying to pay attention, honestly he had; this role was important and something he had very much been interested in. The character was challenging and intense, something he could sink his teeth into. Something he could lose himself in. It was exact what he needed. But, as it had far too often as of late, his mind had been wandering.

 _Three weeks_. God, had it only been three weeks? It was hard for him to believe that it had been so long. And yet still it felt like no time at all. When he closed his eyes he could still see her face with its strangled smile. The way her eyes had shone with the tears she seemed to fight so desperately. It hurt. God, did it hurt. But it had been for the best. Hadn’t it? He still honestly didn’t know.

Tom shook himself back into the present, “Sorry. I don’t know where my head is.” He forced a half-hearted smile and tried to focus on the papers sitting before him.

It was difficult to ignore the knowing look his friend shot. While Tom hadn’t said anything outright after he’d ended things with…Why was it so hard to even _think_ her name? Luke had known. Somehow he always seemed to know. Tom supposed with a ruthless laugh that was why he paid the man so fucking much.

 _Get your head back in the game, Hiddleston_.

“Where were we?”

He forced himself to focus on the various papers, folders, and contracts sitting before him; to listen as Luke and his manager, Michael, droned on about shooting schedules, press releases, the various parties attached to the project. It was important, he knew that. He just needed to keep himself focused. It was difficult and, God, he wished he didn’t have to care. But he smiled graciously and dutifully signed each paper passed his way, half listening as Michael summarized its contents.

And then finally, finally, it was done. Tom had never felt more relieved than after he had signed the last bloody form and was told he could go. He recapped and placed the pen neatly on the desk in front of him, shook both Luke and Michael’s hands and left the office as quickly as his feet could carry him.

The role was officially his and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

 

They’d been filming for going on six weeks now. Six weeks of alternating 3AM call times with grueling night shoots. It was demanding and exhausting, but he relished in every minute of it. He knew several of the crew from projects past and they’d gotten on quite well. The director pushed him, she was challenging and, at times, demanding; he wouldn’t have had it any other way. His co-star, Natalie, was someone he had known for years; since his RADA days. She was clever, quick on her feet, dedicated, and an absolute delight to play off of. He’d been overjoyed when he learned of her casting and they had spent much of the pre-production catching up and discussing how each would play their respective roles.

Filming was primarily in and around London. That had been one of the project’s major selling points. It meant he could spend most nights in his own bed. He could see his friends, his mother, even his bratty little sister (whom he loved dearly but even now tended to push the majority of his buttons). He refused to acknowledge the stray thought that remaining in London meant he could possibly see…No. No, that was not an option any more. He’d made completely certain of that.

But that did little to silence the voice in his head that desperately wanted to see her. To know she was okay. He just wanted her to be okay. It was utterly ridiculous and he’d known it. He’d made his choice. He did not have the right to second guess, not now.

He pushed his front door open, grateful for the silence that engulfed him. The day had been far too long and he wanted nothing more than to fall headlong into his bed and not move for at least a week.

Sighing, he dropped himself onto the couch and covered his eyes with his right arm. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. He hadn’t seen the point. There was no one waiting for him, not even Bobby.

He’d sent the hyper but adorable chocolate spaniel to stay with Emma and her husband for the week. Even though he was filming close to home, the extensive hours he was being forced to keep were rough on a dog so young. And Emma certainly hadn’t protested. He wondered vaguely if she would actually give Bobby back when all was said and done. It could honestly go either way.

He ignored the small part of his brain that was lambasting him for collapsing on the couch instead of climbing the stairs to his room and his waiting bed. He would make it there eventually. Sleeping on the couch always seemed to lead to a sore back and restless tossing and turning, but he was there now and moving had ceased to be an option.

The buzzing of his phone jarred the silence of the room. He cursed as he fumbled in his side pocket for the offending device. “Hello?”

A warm female voice answered, “Tom? It’s Nat.”

He sat up, trying to fight the stupid disappointment he felt because it wasn’t _her_ voice. “Hey, is everything alright?”

She laughed, “Yeah, everything’s decent.” There was a hesitancy in her voice he couldn’t quite place. “I really am sorry to bother you, I know you’ve got to be knackered. Lord knows I am.”

He rubbed his face with his free hand, “It’s fine. I wasn’t asleep. Can’t seem to turn my brain off,” he laughed quietly, “What’s going on?”

“So since we’re both off tomorrow and I was wondering if you’d be up for meeting up for a drink or something…”

“You sure everything’s okay? I thought Max was coming down…” It had been all Natalie had been talking about for weeks. She’d been positively blissful leaving set, despite how tired they both had been.

“Yeah, that kind of fell through. We’re…I guess we’re on a break. I don’t know.” Her voice had taken on a quieter aspect and he could plainly hear the uncertainty and confusion in her tone. “I just…I could really use a friend.”

“Of course, Nat.”

Once they had agreed to meet a pub not too far from the flat Natalie had been letting the call ended. Tom sighed and pushed himself to his feet, grateful that in his laziness he’d not toed off his boots. Keys in hand he headed back out into the warm evening air.

Natalie was several pints in by the time he’d found her at a table just off of the pub’s main entrance. She smiled half-heartedly at him as he slid into the seat across from her, clutching his own drink. As he drank she poured her heart out, relaying everything had happened and her confusion and hurt. They had been completely fine as far as she’d known. Yes, this particular shoot had been demanding but she’d been available for every call, she’d made time to try to see him as often as she could. Her frustration and anger were palpable.

Tom, not knowing what to say, simply sat and offered her his attention and sympathy. It wasn’t long before he’d caught up drink-wise and they began trading rounds. And it was bleary eyed and stumbling that they both found themselves at Natalie’s door several hours later. He’d taken her invitation for coffee without a second thought, reveling in the warmth of being thoroughly in his cups.

He woke the next morning with a pounding head and the distinct feeling that something was amiss. With a great deal of care, he attempted to roll on his side. Nausea raged through him. God, moving had been a mistake. He groped blindly for the bottle of paracetamol he kept in his bedside drawer. But to no avail.

He cautiously cracked one eye and noted with a sinking sense of certainty that the bedside table was wrong. He risked cracking the other eye and forced himself to sit slowly, very, very slowly up in bed. This wasn’t his bedroom. Where was he?

As his head pounded furiously images began to flit into his conscious memory. Snippets of laughter and drinking at the pub. The warm up of coffee Natalie had handed him. The way her lips tasted as they crashed into his own. Clothing flying. Wandering hands. _Oh God_.

He heard footsteps in the hall, heading towards the bedroom. “You look like you could use this.”

A chipped mug was held under his nose and he took it gladly. Two familiar white pills were dropped unceremoniously into his other hand. _Paracetamol. Lovely_. He grimaced at the heat as he took two quick swallows to wash the medication down. The coffee was incredibly dark and bitter and he honestly didn’t care. “Thank you,” he murmured. It took several more gulps before he made himself ask, “Last night did we…” His voice trailed off, unable to finish the question.

“Yes,” Natalie answered, “we did.”

He raised his eyes towards her. She looked slightly worse for wear; hair mused and eyeliner smudged. She was attractive, that was something he couldn’t deny. But he’d never seriously entertained the idea of having her in that way. But he’d been drunk and she was beautiful and willing. God, he was an ass. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t, Hiddleston,” she reprimanded, “We were drunk and we had sex. Was it the best idea? Probably not. But it happened. And fuck me I really don’t need your pity or your remorse right now.”

“I’m not saying that,” he shot back, setting the now empty mug on the bedside table. “I just…I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you…”

She laughed mirthlessly, “I think it’s fair to say we took advantage of each other, Tom.” He only nodded in reply, not trusting himself to speak. “I know you are looking for anything and honestly neither am I. It happened and we’ll deal.” She offered him another small smile before walking out of the room.

Once the medication had kicked in and he felt slightly more human he was able to pull himself out of her bed and gather his clothes from the floor. He dressed silently trying not to think about what had happened and what the fuck he was going to do. She was not only his colleague but his friend. He had no desire to screw that up.

Natalie was sitting on a chair in the living room. Her eyes locked on his as he stumbled out of the hall. “I um…I guess I will see you tomorrow?” He cringed at himself. God he sounded like an ass.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

And with that he offered her a nod in farewell and walked out of the door. He blinked rapidly in the bright sunlight of mid-morning. _It was just the once. You were both drunk; she was sad and you were lonely. Don’t make it bigger than it is_.

But it happened again. And kept on happening. Neither had put a label on what they were doing, though they both were in agreement that it wasn’t serious. It was just sex. Just a means to a mutually beneficial end. Neither wanted anything more than that.

They were friends first and foremost. This, whatever it was, was simply a way to deal with the stress and loneliness they’d found themselves in. Natalie was lovely and they had always seemed to get along famously, but it would never go deeper than that.

She was safe, in that way; she’d made it perfectly clear that she had absolutely no interest in anything long term. So he’d allowed himself to let them be. And despite everything, he was content. They had taken to spending a great deal of their free time together talking and wandering around London. It was nice, just knowing there was _someone_ even if it was only temporary.

There had been photographers. He’d known that with startling certainty. There always were. But he tried to pay them as little mind as he could. Stories would be printed about him regardless, fighting against it or worrying about it would do him little good.

He tried not to think about Rosie, tried not to compare what was happening to what they had shared. And most days he could. He would be able to wander the city and enjoy just being. Others, he would spend wondering, fruitlessly, if what he’d done, what he was doing, was the right thing. It was pointless and ridiculous in the extreme but on those days, he couldn’t seem to help himself. On those days he felt every bit the celebrity cliché; the famous actor fucking his beautiful co-star. And he hated himself for it.

Natalie, however, was understanding to a fault. She never pushed him to talk but was always willing to listen when he did. There were times he almost wished there was more between them, simply for the sheer fact that she understood. He cared for her, adored her even, but it would never be enough. For either of them. But for the time being, it worked.

A few days before filming wrapped Natalie had pulled him aside, asking if it were okay with him if they ended things. She and Max had been talking again. Things were starting to work and she didn’t want to pass up this chance. Tom had smiled and agreed without question. Natalie deserved happiness and if that was what made her happy then who was he to stand in the way?

And he was happy for her. Truly. He just couldn’t silence the voice in his head that wished it was him. Wished he’d been the one who had ended this because he was the one reconciling. That he was getting his Rosie back. He hated himself for that. He didn’t deserve it. He’d been the one to ruin everything because he was so fucking scared he wouldn’t be enough. That because of who he was, what he chose to do, she would be the one paying the price. He was a coward, pure and simple. And he was paying for it.

It had taken all of his training and professionalism to pull his head back into the present. He finished the day, a rare short one, with little screw up on his end and was greatly looking forward to home. And to his bed.

A groan escaped his throat. “Fuck,” he breathed as he glanced at the waiting message on his phone. Ben has texted. He’d gotten back from his own filming a week prior and they’d talked about meeting up. Apparently Ben had decided tonight was to be the night. Fuck. He just wanted a quiet night. But he hadn’t seen Ben in months. Dammit.

With a resigned sigh, he texted his friend in agreement and grabbed his light jacket from the arm of the couch in his trailer. _No time like the present_.

He’d hoped the cooler air would help to clear his head; it was one of the main reasons he’d chosen to walk to the pub rather than catch a taxi. He pulled his thin jacket tightly around himself, trying to block out the wind that had started to pick up.

He still wasn’t sure why he agreed to come out in the first place. He certainly wasn’t going to be the best company. And the last thing he wanted to do was socialize but he hadn’t seen Ben in months. He’d missed the man’s dry wit and no-nonsense approach to life. Ben certainly never had a problem taking him down a peg or two when he’d needed it. With all that had happened in the last month, it was something he desperately needed.

Tom had seen the woman pacing aimlessly in front of the pub but hadn’t paid her all that much mind, too lost in his own thoughts. So finding her face first in his chest had been a shock. He’d unconsciously thrown out his hands to steady her and she in turn had done the same, bracing her own against his chest. He felt his heart cease as the familiar floral scent surrounded him

His eyes fell on her dark head. _No_ , he reasoned with himself, _it isn’t her. It can’t be_.

“I’m so sorry!” Her voice was high, full of panic and embarrassment, but it was her voice.

“Rosie?” Her name fell from his lips in disbelief. Months of unconsciously searching for her face in a crowd, of hoping to see her around every corner, and here she was. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his luck.

“Tom?”

Her hazel eyes locked on his and he drunk her in, taking in every detail. Every small change and committing it to memory. She’d cut her hair, though it still fell past her shoulders. Her dress was one he’d never seen before; a deep red that clung to her hips and chest in such a way that made his breath come short. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, not caring that he had no right to notice anymore.

Color flooded her cheeks and he fought the urge to pull her against him once more, to hold her again. “Thanks,” she murmured in reply. “You look well.”

The awkwardness between them was a knife to the heart. And it was his fault. All of it. He wanted to tell her so. Tell her he was sorry. That he had been stupid and selfish and that he missed her. He opened his mouth, not quite sure what he was going to say but knowing he needed to say _something_.

But the words died on his lips as he watched a tall man, roughly his own height, walk out of the pub and head straight for his Rosie holding a black cardigan in his hands. No, not his Rosie, not anymore.

Rosemary jumped at the sound of the man’s voice, jerking herself away from Tom as if she’d been burned. It certainly felt like he had been.

He watched helplessly as Rosemary traded the leather jacket thrown over her shoulders for the black jumper. How could he not have noticed the bloody jacket? She smiled at the man, her lover his mind taunted, and seemed perfectly content as he rubbed her arms with familiarity.

Tom wanted to scream. She had moved on. _Of course she has you selfish prick, why wouldn’t she? This is what you wanted, remember? You wanted her to be happy_. He swallowed against the bile rising in his throat.

Her eyes settled on him once more as she apologized for bumping into him again. He plastered on what he hoped was a convincingly warm smile. _This is for her_. He heard himself reply for her to think nothing of the matter, his voice sounded hollow to his own ears. She didn’t deserve that. She was happy and he didn’t have the right to sully her happiness.

She nodded in reply, linking her arm with the man beside her. And he prayed to whatever god was listening that he was half the actor everyone seemed to think he was because he couldn’t see any other way for him to get through this. “We won’t keep you,” she spoke, her voice steady. “Have a good night.”

He nodded at her, recognizing a dismissal when he heard it. It was the least of what he deserved.

He forced another smile before turning and heading into the crowded pub. He lost himself in the noise and movement of the place, trying not to let his thoughts wander back to the woman who was now walking away from him, arm in arm with her future. This was what he had wanted. So why couldn’t he believe that?


End file.
